IIP 

2-2  Sl,^ 


YKIWS UNlVERSllY OF  CALIFORNIA* 


JOHN  HENRY  NASH  LIBRARY 

^  SAN  FRANCISCO  «> 

PRESENTED  TO  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

ROBERT  GORDON  SPROUL,  PRESIDENT. 

Mr.andMrs.MILTON  S.RA,V 
CECILY,  VIRGINIA  AND  ROSALYN  IV^Y 

AND  THE 

RAY  OIL  BURNER  COMPANY 


SAN  FRANCISCO 
NEV7YORK 


^ 

% 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/endofplayOOthacrich 


THE  END  OF  THE  PLAY 


THE  END  OF  THE  PLAY 


WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY 


NEW  YORK 

PRIVATELY  PRINTED 

CHRISTMAS  1915 


To    THE 

Memory 

OF 

My  Mother 


THE  END  OF  THE  PLAY 

It  was  Mr.  Thackeray's  fortunate  fate  to 
'^lay  the  weary  pen  aside''  on  the  very  eve  of 
a  Solemn  Christmas-tide  of  which  he  sang  not 
too  mournfully.  The  season,  of  course,  is  one 
of  '^health  and  love  and  mirth."  But  there 
comes  at  some  time  in  every  life  a  moment 
when  the  lights  go  out  and  the  curtain  is 
dropped  and  the  bright  pageant  of  existence 
is  shrouded  for  a  while.  It  is  the  end  of  the 
play.  We  all  know  well  enough  that  the  cur- 
tain  will  rise  and  the  show  go  on  again,  and 
tomorrow' s  audience  will  clap  its  hands  in 
renewed  applause.  But  to  a  few,  the  per- 
formance will  never  he  quite  the  same, 

C.  M.  F. 
Christmas  IQI^ 


THE  END  OF  THE  PLAY 

The  play  is  done ;  the  curtain  drops, 

Slow  falling,  to  the  prompter's  bell: 
A  moment  yet  the  actor  stops. 

And  looks  around,  to  say  farewell. 
It  is  an  irksome  word  and  task; 

And  when  he's  laughed  and  said  his  say, 
He  shows,  as  he  removes  the  mask, 

A  face  that's  anything  but  gay. 


One  word,  ere  yet  the  evening  ends, 

Let's  close  it  with  a  parting  rhyme, 
And  pledge  a  hand  to  all  young  friends, 

As  fits  the  merry  Christmas-time. 
On  life's  wide  scene  you,  too,  have  parts. 

That  Fate  ere  long  shall  bid  you  play; 
Good  night!  with  honest  gentle  hearts 

A  kindly  greeting  go  away! 


Good  night!  —  I'd  say,  the  griefs,  the  joys. 

Just  hinted  in  this  mimic  page. 
The  triumphs  and  defeats  of  boys, 

Are  but  repeated  in  our  age. 
I'd  say,  your  woes  were  not  less  keen. 

Your  hopes  more  vain,  than  those  of  men; 
Your  pangs  or  pleasures  of  fifteen, 

At  forty-five  played  o'er  again. 


I'd  say,  we  suffer  and  we  strive 

Not  less  nor  more  as  men  than  boys; 
With  grizzled  beards  at  forty-five, 

As  erst  at  twelve,  in  corduroys; 
And  if,  in  time  of  sacred  youth. 

We  learned  at  home  to  love  and  pray, 
Pray  Heaven,  that  early  Love  and  Truth 

May  never  wholly  pass  away. 


And  in  the  world,  as  in  the  school, 

I'd  say,  how  fate  may  change  and  shift; 
The  prize  be  sometimes  with  the  fool, 

The  race  not  always  to  the  swift. 
The  strong  may  yield,  the  good  may  fall, 

The  great  man  be  a  vulgar  clown. 
The  knave  be  lifted  over  all. 

The  kind  cast  pitilessly  down. 


Who  knows  the  inscrutable  design? 

Blessed  be  He  who  took  and  gavel 
Why  should  your  mother,  Charles,  not  mine, 

Be  weeping  at  her  darling's  gravel 
We  bow  to  Heaven  that  will'd  it  so, 

That  darkly  rules  the  fate  of  all. 
That  sends  the  respite  or  the  blow. 

That's  free  to  give  or  to  recall. 


This  crowns  his  feast  with  wine  and  wit: 

Who  brought  him  to  that  mirth  and  state? 
His  betters,  see,  below  him  sit. 

Or  hunger  hopeless  at  the  gate. 
Who  bade  the  mud  from  Dives'  wheel 

To  spurn  the  rags  of  Lazarus? 
Come,  brother,  in  that  dust  we'll  kneel, 

Confessing  Heaven  that  ruled  it  thus. 


So  each  shall  mourn,  in  life's  advance, 

Dear  hopes,  dear  friends,  untimely  killed; 
Shall  grieve  for  many  a  forfeit  chance, 

A  longing  passion  unfulfilled. 
Amen!  whatever  fate  be  sent, — 

Pray  God  the  heart  may  kindly  glow, 
Although  the  head  with  cares  be  bent. 

And  whitened  with  the  winter  snow. 


Come  wealth  or  want,  come  good  or  ill, 

Let  young  and  old  accept  their  part, 
And  bow  before  the  Awful  Will, 

And  bear  it  with  an  honest  heart. 
Who  misses,  or  who  wins  the  prize? 

Go,  lose  or  conquer  as  you  can : 
But  if  you  fail,  or  if  you  rise. 

Be  each,  pray  God,  a  gentleman. 


A  gentleman,  or  old  or  young  I 

(Bear  kindly  with  my  humble  lays;) 
The  sacred  chorus  first  was  sung 

Upon  the  first  of  Christmas  days; 
The  shepherds  heard  it  overhead  — 

The  joyful  angels  raised  it  then : 
Glory  to  Heaven  on  high,  it  said. 

And  peace  on  earth  to  gentle  men. 


My  song,  save  this,  is  little  worth; 

I  lay  the  weary  pen  aside. 
And  wish  you  health,  and  love,  and  mirth. 

As  fits  the  solemn  Christmas-tide. 
As  fits  the  holy  Christmas  birth. 

Be  this,  good  friends,  our  carol  still  — 
Be  peace  on  earth,  be  peace  on  earth. 

To  men  of  gentle  will. 


Of  this  book  two  hundred  copies  were  printed  for  Thomas 
Nast  Fairbanks  by  The  Torch  Press  i7i  December  niiieteen 
himdred  and  fifteen 


V 


Tfc7 


